Sunday, March 30, 2014

(A New work by Chintan Upadhyay to be shown at Gallery Espace in April 2014. for illustration purpose only)

After a long time I hear the chirping of birds. Silent
greenery looks at me curiously from the glass window. Brick and mortar clutter
the space beyond the tree. The kaleidoscopic view of nature here refracts only
the residual urbanity. Fringes grow faster than the planned centres. Constant
evacuation of the peripheries expands the possibility of the centre to puff up
further. There is controlled arrogance in the air, which is split by the
wailing of a vegetable vendor. This sight and sound of the world is same
everywhere. It all depends on who sees and hears them in what and which state
of mind. My friend has moved from spectacular works of art to stuffed woollen toys
in constricted shells. He has a large house, large places to party, large
cities to travel and a large number of friends to share his ideas with. But he
has moved from large works to small ones; that too placed in suffocating cages.
I can understand him. He is responding to his state of mind. Art of whatever
kind from, however the artist tries, comes from the mind of the artist; if it
is cluttered his art would reflect that clutter. It is all about the space
inside mind, or rather mind itself is the space.

How do you define space? I am not a scientist so I am not
even attempting to give a scientific definition to space. Space is everywhere
or everywhere, the idea of everywhere itself is space. In space, we see
physical things with shapes and space gets defined according to the contours of
the physicality of the objects. A wasteland, which has been a vast expanse of
filth, would turn into a beautiful architectural complex when it comes up
there. The space was there but it was an expanse of dirt and in the cultural
and visual thinking of ours a vast expanse of space whether it is of absolute nothingness
or of filth is just a space of immensity and we do not like the spaces of
immensity because it defies definitions. We need objects to fill in the space
with. For space, physical objects are like what a name to a person. Name makes
the person a definitive subject; a countable and recognizable entity. He could be
tackled easily. He could be tamed and brought within the system. A nameless
person is a meaningless wasteland. He invokes fear, anxiety and terror. That’s
why we fill in the places with objects. A room corner is not a corner if there
is not flower pot. A room is not a room if there is no book shelf. A kitchen is
not a kitchen if there is not an array of pet bottles filled with innumerable
items which perhaps one would never use or rarely use. These things give
definition to the space that we dwell. A corner without a triangular table and
a flowerpot is not a corner. It is a disturbance; children fear corners so are
the grown up. Children fear blank spaces so they fill in them with lines and
doodles. Grown up fill in them with things.

Space, for me is knowledge; it is not a thing. Knowledge is
not information. Knowledge is not a library or Wikipedia. Knowledge is the
limitlessness of existence and abundance of life. It happens within what we
call our ‘inside’. But there is no inside and outside. This duality is created
by fake spiritualists. Human body is mind and human mind is body. And it is
space. Space is truth; perhaps the only truth. And if space is truth it happens
both inside and outside alike. If space is knowledge, then it happens both
inside and outside alike. Knowledge is consciousness. The awareness about
consciousness is knowledge and knowledge about consciousness is awareness, both
give the freedom to experience space. In space there exists one’s ability to
live and grow. When there is no space there is no knowledge; it just becomes a kaleidoscopic
refraction of spangles. When there is no knowledge there is no space too. Space
is for knowledge and knowledge for space and the thirst for both gives freedom
to a human being. Space is self created. A person who fills in oneself with
things and all what is not needed has the tendencies of anal retention; one who
does not want to shit. He accumulates all what is not needed. He is afraid of
being light. Space is lightness. Knowledge is lightness and everything happens
both in human mind and body, which are not two entities but one and the same.

Only when a person experiences such freedom of knowledge experiences
space and in that space beauty comes filling in. When beauty joins hands with
truth the real works of art happens. If art is happening in a constricted way
it is the reluctance of the artist to let the things go. He chokes himself with
the responses to what has happened to him so far. But I do not say that it is
not good. It is good as far as it is cathartic and self purgative. Such art
which is limited of space is a sort of confession, a sort of self flagellation
and a sort of repentance. This art will pass and space will come back. But let
me warn you; space is not about bigness. Space is not about smallness. Space is
about freedom. In the most crowded place one could feel this freedom. This freedom
comes from his perennial understanding to accept the given and improve from
there. The improvement does not have external parameters. It does not have
internal parameters either. It fills in the space, that is you, automatically
and flows out. It is like love. It cannot be measured in ounces or litres. Love
has only metaphors as measurement. So is space, so is freedom. Expressions are
metaphors. Life is an expression of an organism. Human beings express their
space, therefore their freedom or slavery. De-cluttering of anything does not
make space. Filling up or vacating do not make space. Space happens when one
decides to be space itself. Freedom starts where everything else ends and your
existence begins.

Now you may ask then what about other practicalities like a
leaking faucet, an empty gas cylinder, an un-ironed shirt and so many other
things? One could be a good driver but he need not necessarily be a mechanic.
But a good driver should have the basic knowledge of the engine as well as the
places where he could get the problem solved. So practical problems could be
solved, if not all by oneself, but with the help of the experts. But brooding
over a leaking pipe will not solve any problem. It will clutter space and it
will limit freedom and as a result of it, it will finish your existence. I am
not preaching. I am trying to talk to myself on a Sunday morning. I could see
the silent greenery peeping at me from the glass window. And beyond it the
nature has become a jigsaw of brick and mortar.

Saturday, March 15, 2014

Is there in any truth in saying that the AAP’s Delhi win was
majorly contributed by the messages of the party carried across the city by the
auto-rickshaws? Today, the Delhi auto drivers have changed their stance. They
have already started putting up Narendra Modi’s messages and anti-AAP slogans
on their autos. With these slogans help or not in sending across the message,
the opinion polls conducted by various agencies predict that there will be a
NDA led rule in the centre and if miracles do not happen, Narendra Modi will be
the Prime Minister of the country. In that case, what do these auto-messages do
in the public domain for swaying the public opinion for or against a particular
party? One cannot think that when the AAP was campaigning for the Delhi
assembly elections, all of a sudden all the auto-drivers became conscious of
the issue of corruption and they desperately wanted to bring in a change therefore
they put up pro-AAP posters on their vehicles. There must have been an
organized move through various independent auto unions to carry out such propaganda.
Today, when they change the colours and put up pro-Modi posters, it takes only
common sense to understand that these are organized and rather paid campaigns
undertaken by the propaganda wing of the BJP. As portrayed or commonly
believed, it is not a conscious decision by the auto-drivers to oppose the AAP
or its leader Arvind Kejriwal.

After becoming the Chief Minister of Delhi, Arvind Kejriwal
had called for a mega rally of the auto-drivers, where he had asked them to
take a pledge on the name of their children that they would never over charge
or indulge in any corrupt activities. The euphoria and optimism was such that
most of the auto-drivers promised then and there that they would obey rules and
would never over charge the commuters. But the truth is different. When
Kejriwal was in power, most of the auto people behaved. They thought that it
was their moral duty to abide by their pledge or at least by the slogans that
they had carried on their auto rickshaws. For forty nine days, auto people
showed some amount of sophistication and decorum. Even if their meters are
defective they at least showed the willingness to run by meter. But the day
Kejriwal went out of power, they changed their colours overnight. They started
over charging again. They have forgotten the pledge that they have taken. They have
forgotten the oath. Reason, Delhi has not changed. Kejriwal had asked people to
conduct sting operations. Even the policemen were afraid of asking for bribes
thinking that they would be caught in camera. But the day Kejriwal tendered his
resignation, Police came back to the Delhi streets in full force asking for
bribe. As Kejriwal puts it extortion corruption is back in action.

(Delhi autos against AAP today)

Delhi showed some symptoms of preparedness for revolution
when it voted for the AAP. But soon it realized that the country is not yet
prepared for any kind of revolution. People want revolution but people are not
ready to do any kind of sacrifice for that. When the Central Secretariat Metro
station was closed in January this year due to Kejriwal’s sit in protest,
majority of the Delhi middle class thought that Kejriwal was doing something
wrong. Middle class elected Kejriwal to mind his business; not theirs. They
thought like other politicians Kejriwal too would sit in the secretariat and by
making policy changes he would provide a corruption free governance. But he showed
the world that there were different ways of governance. Importantly, he told
the world that to do good governance, the government needs right kind of power
in hand. And to have right kind of power, people should have participation in
governance. But the middle class in Delhi failed to understand that. That’s why
most of the people today say that Kejriwal did something wrong by resigning
from the power. He could have continued in power and fought from inside. But to
fight from inside you need the support of the system. The system itself was
hostile when he was in power. He was the first powerless chief minister in
India.

More than the auto people, Arvind Kejriwal’s campaign was
supported by the social networking sites. Social networking sites play an
important role because many people believe that expression of opinion in the
virtual space is enough and if they have done something for the AAP and if AAP
has come to power, they feel good about it. Obviously, social networking sites
have helped forming the opinion of people. It is just like mass mobilization of
opinion in the real space. What evening rallies used to do once upon a time
does the same today in virtual space day in and day out. People are swayed by
mass likings and mass sharing. People are impressed by the number of followers
in twitter and they also want to be a follower. But this actually does not contribute
to the real revolution. Wherever revolution has happened, including Egypt and
Kiev, people have come out en masse to the streets. In India it has not yet
happened. People are arm chair revolutionaries. They speak their opinion in
twitters and facebook and leave it there. Unless and until they come out in the
streets and face the brutal power of the state, revolution is not going to take
place. People are not interested. The latest example is the desertion of Mamata
Banerjee- Anna Hazare rally in Delhi. People just refused to turn up. If Modi’s
rallies are attended by too many people, they are paid to do so. Those people
come out in the streets are either paid or are just professional protesters.
The mass is still at large. Middle class does not want to dirty their clothes. The
working class is absolutely disorganized. The auto people are just turn coats.

Where does the revolution lie then? In India, there is no
possibility of revolution in the near future. Unless and until the middle class
feel the need to do sacrifice on its part, revolution is not going to take
place. People in the grass root level are the real sufferers. Displaced masses
in the urban and suburban areas are the real sufferers. Though there are unions
for farmers, Dalits, Adivasis and so on, they do not agree on so many things
and do not come on to the same platform. When these dispossessed people awake
and run over the middle class and destroy the cosy life of the middle class
then only a revolution will take place in India. But in the meanwhile the
middle class will join the ruling class without looking at the colour of the
flag or the flavour of their ideology. They resist grass root revolution on
behalf of the government/state. Middle class will be used as a shield against
the possible working class unification and uprising. Auto drivers are the
misguided disorganized mass that aspires for middle class status by looting the
middle class. So they would in turn protect the middle class values only. AAP
has to start organizing people from the grass root level and they should
threaten the middle class with its ideology. And the future of India is in the
hands of Communists in which the AAP has a great role to play. But people
accuse the AAP of being ultra or Maoists. Maoists operate from outside the
system. AAP operates from within. So fundamentally the AAP is not ultra
leftists. But AAP is the dormant socialist and communist dream of India. We
just need to wait for it to become a reality. It may take a few years or even a
century. But I am sure that to turn that dream into a reality the medium is
neither auto-drivers nor the middle class. The future of the AAP lies in the
subaltern of all colours.

I searched for his picture in google. But no picture. Some
people go out of this world without leaving a google picture. Ravi Maman was one.

Ravi Maman is no more. For many in my village, he was Ravi
Sir. For many others he was ‘Vattu Ravi’ (Insane Ravi). He was suffering from
cancer and was living away from his family. Finally he was brought back to the
village and he breathed his last yesterday (14th March 2014). He
must have been nearly eighty years old. He was a man who lived his life in his
own terms. He flouted all the social norms and was happy to be called ‘insane’.
People respected him for his knowledge but morally inclined people disparaged
him for the ways in which he conducted his life. He never smoked or drank. But
he was in love. While people tolerate a drunkard and an addict, people just do
not tolerate a man in love, especially when he has a family. Our social system
will break, our social morality will collapse and our basis of democracy will
get shattered if a person falls in love. He paid with his love for his life. He
was an idealist. And like any idealist’s fate, his children went against his
idealism and became daily wages labourers. He used to call his son, ‘A donkey
born out of a horse’. That donkey was my dearest friend during my childhood
days. Perhaps, my friend wanted to let me know about the death of his father.
He called me several times but I could not pick up his call. But by night I got
a call from home informing of Ravi Maman’s death.

In a non-descript village like Vakkom, Ravi Maman was a
strange character. In villages you find several strange characters. There used
to be one mentally retarded person who used to hang out in the village lower
primary school. He found his happiness in ringing bell in the school. There was
another man who used to look like a saint but was absolutely deranged. There
was another young man who had gone mad and walked several miles a day as if he
were searching for something but never finding it. Yet another man came from
Singapore, spent all his earnings in buying two horses and letting them loose
in the village. He ate his breakfast in Trivandrum, lunch at Kollam and came
back to sleep in my village. In my own family there was a person who read only
English pulp thrillers and never knew what was going on around him in the
world. Villages have strange fools and perhaps they balance the overt sanity of
the morally inclined people. Otherwise people may go bad with their sanity.

Ravi Maman (Ravi Uncle, as we used to call him as he was my
father’s best friend), it was told that was born to a feudal Ezhava landlord
and was the only son of the family. He was brought up with a lot of love and
care. In childhood itself he learnt to play flute and he thought he was the
incarnation of Lord Krishna. He used to climb on the trees and play music to
the amusement of the village women going for their evening or morning shopping
in the local market. He grew up to become a teacher who taught the future teachers.
That means he was a teacher in a TTC school. He had a peculiar dressing sense.
He wore half sleeve cream shirt with two pockets, which was designed by him.
And he wore a dhoti identical in colour. He never wore pure white clothes; it
was always off white as if he a sign of his character, neither white nor black.
He revelled in the in between space of morality, sanity and intelligence. He was
a sort of philosopher who never took anything too seriously. But he was a good
organizer and was in the forefront of village cultural festivals. He folded his
dothi in a special way and while the other tucked it over their shirts, he
tucked it under his shirt. He rode a cycle, well oiled and clean, and he
climbed on it by throwing the leg from the front, unlike the people who used to
throw it across the saddle. Everyone knew him in the village and they looked at
him with certain kind of amusement.

When Ravi Maman became my father’s close friend and started
visiting my home regularly I was in fifth or sixth standard. We used to call
him ‘Payasam Maman’ (Kheer Uncle) because he came on Sundays when my mother
made kheer at home. He relished eating kheer. My father and Ravi Maman were
always engaged in heated arguments which I did not understand in those days. People
detested Ravi Maman for his extramarital affair with a Dalit woman but my
family did not judge him based on that. His eldest son was sent to a Gurukulam,
a religious boarding school in Varkala. His daughter was studying in another
village and the youngest child was also with his mother. Ravi Maman was more or
less a free bird and was living with his old mother. One day he decided to
bring his son back from Gurukulam. He brought him to our house and we instantly
became friends. Then for so many years, we were thick friends and we remain so
though unfortunately he became a daily wage earner as he could not go ahead in
studies.

Ravi Maman was one of the leading figures in the Reading
Club movement in our village. Along with my father he was always there in the
progressive activities of our village. Kumaran Aasan, one of the most prominent
modern poets in Malayalam was born in our neighbouring village. Every year on
14th April, on his birthday, there used to be celebrations. Unlike
these days, those were the great literary seminars that ran for four to five
days. All the major poets and literary figures used to come to our village
which is blessed with backwaters and sea. Myself and Manu, Ravi Maman’s eldest
son, who had become a great friend of mine by that time used to be a regular
fixture in these festivals. We attended these literary seminars and another attraction
for us was that one of the nights, Ravi Maman would pay a local restaurant
owner to give us a plateful of appam and chicken curry. More than literature we
cherished this chicken curry. And then we spent a lot of time in the sea shore.
As our parents allowed us to be in the seminar even at night for cultural programs,
we made use of the time for sneaking out from there and watching some movies
(late night show) in a near by movie hall. The internationally renowned Asan
World Prize was organized by Ravi Maman and his friends.

Ravi Maman had a lot of innovative ideas. One of them was
Coco cultivation. In his huge land he cultivated coco plants. It was very
interesting to see ripe coco fruits hanging from the thick coco plants. At
night the whole property looked so eerie that we children never dared to
venture out there. But Manu was very daring and he used to take me into the
darkness and show me what happened amongst these coco plants. While other
farmers elsewhere exported coco seeds, Ravi Maman was not interested to export
it. He set up his own laboratory and found out that he could brew alcohol/Wine
from these coco fruits. He became locally famous for his coco wine for some
time. But he lost interest soon. Later when he got retired from the government
service, he partnered with a local printing press and started publishing a
journal called ‘Arshajyothi’ (The Light of Rishis). His aim was to propagate
the ideas of Sree Narayana Guru, promote philosophical articles, poems and so
on. By that time I was already in my pre-degree, and he asked me to write for
the magazine. I was also in search of my identity as a writer. I had already
published a few poems in the local dailies under my own name, JohnyML. But I
found that the name was not so effective. I was reading Kafka at that time and
also within a year I became addicted to W.H.Hudson’s Green Mansions. So I chose
two pen names. Alex John was the first name and Johny Merrick Laxman was the
second name. I published all my articles in Arsha Jyothi under the name, Alex
John. Ravi Maman never asked me why I wanted to change my name. I started
sending articles and poems to other leading dailies and journals under the
name, Johny Merrick Laxman and most of the envelopes came back with polite
apologies.

I used to have severe fights with Ravi Maman regarding the
publication of Arshajyothi. He was going from debt to debt as he was putting
all his money in publishing this journal. Once, out of frustration I told him
that let us title it ‘Arsha Rathi’ (Rishi’s Erotica). He abused me in public.
But my relationship with Ravi Maman was always cordial. Frustration was growing
in him, I could see. His daughter was already married off. The young son had
got into some trouble. My friend, Manu was the only one who could carry forward
the legacy of Ravi Maman. But he was a donkey born out of a horse, as he put
it. Ravi Maman took his share from the press and started his own printing press
and handed over it to Manu. Manu was equally crazy like his father. He started
off with the press in an interesting note. He started getting works. But he
started visiting temples by taxis. He blew up money in visiting temples by car.
And at night he watched late night movies in nearby cinema halls. His press was
also not going anywhere. He finally closed it down. By that time he had got
married. He had to do something with his life. He vanished one day. Years later
he was fond out from Kochi in a very bad shape. He was working in a hotel as a
waiter. By that time I had left Kerala and settled in Delhi. The news of Manu
used to pain me. But he came back to his life. Today he does some contract
works and lives a decent life.

However, Ravi Maman had become increasingly disillusioned
with his life. He shifted from the village and settled in Trivandrum. He lived
in a lodge and pursued his literary and research interests. Once, after so many
years he contacted me in Delhi. It was a letter first followed by a phone call.
The content of the letter was a bit curious. He asked me to contact some people
in Delhi who had some stone business and the stones are precious and we could
make a lot of profit out of it. I was utterly confused. Then he phoned me up
and explained how things could be worked out. I tried to tell him that I was
not in that line nor did I have any inclination to get into something like
that. But he was quite adamant. I told something to pacify him and left it
there. May be he got the hint and never pursued it with me. I get interesting
proposal from people like this. Once it was an oil import project. Another time
it was a selling second hand cars from Delhi to Kerala. Then it was car spare
parts selling. Recently I got an offer from one of my school friends to buy and
sell Enfield Bullet bikes from Delhi to Kerala. He offered me 20% profit. I
always tell them that I am not in that line. But as school friends they believe
that Johny could do anything as he is in Delhi.

Ravi Maman is no more. He was suffering from cancer. He kept
himself away from his family for a long time as it was a warring family. He
wanted peace and spend his time in studies and research. I knew that
frustration was growing in him but he never showed it to anyone. He suffered it
alone and with full dignity. He was brought back to the village to his
ancestral family in January this year by his son. Recently when I visited my
village for a day or two, I knew that Ravi Maman was there. Somehow I did not
want to go and see him. I wanted to keep that image of an energetic man with
crazy ideas throwing his leg across the front bar of the cycle and travelling all
around the village. I wanted that man in my mind who used to abuse me in public
for my literary faults. I still remember how he corrected a couplet in one of
my poems. ‘Pottunna chattiyil ashti kazhikkuvaan kashtappedunnee pattini
paavangal’, he corrected so. It said, ‘famine stricken people eat their morsels
in broken pots’. My Alex John phase was enriched by his publishing efforts. Though
I was of his son’s age, he used to stop his cycle whenever and wherever he met
me. Sometimes he used to walk with me, talking so many things. I don’t know
whether he had seen his son in me.

Monday, March 10, 2014

(The cover page of Eleven Minutes by Paulo Coelho that I translated into Malayalam)

My efforts to translate the autobiography of a sex worker in
Kerala, Nalini Jameela, though was a cathartic experience for me, however could
not find a publisher. There were two reasons for this; one, by the time I finished
translating it, noted Feminist scholar, J.Devika had already finished it and
Penguin Books had brought it out on stands. Two, I had not approached any
publisher with my translation as I did not know the rules of the publishing
game then. To my surprise I got a commission from the famous D.C.Books to
translate Anita Nair’s ‘Mistress’ from English to Malayalam. This was my first
official commission for translating a literary work. I took it up earnestly and
finished the work in six months time. It was in 2005 and I was a contract
correspondent for the Delhi edition of Malayala Manorama, one of the leading
newspapers in Malayalam. I had not yet entered the world of blog writing then.
But still I was working on a small autobiography (the reasons for writing an
autobiography at that time were even unknown to me then). I have always been
tremendously disciplined as far as my writing is concerned. I used to get up
early in the morning and wrote for around three hours. It could be anything,
small poems to short stories to anything. Though I was writing quite regularly,
no serious thoughts about publishing them had crossed my mind then. Once I got
this translation work, I reorganized my working style. My son was hardly three
months old and I wrote while sitting next to his crib, occasionally looking at
him and feeling a lot good about the scene.

A4 size bond paper and Reynolds ballpoint pen were my favourite
tools for translating. The local stationary store person became very friendly
as I started visiting the shop quite regularly for buying paper and pen. I
never bought a whole bunch of paper or a packet full of pens. Instead, I bought
fifty sheets and one pen at a time. This gave me a sense of accomplishment as I
could finish both the items in two or three days and visit the shop again.
Initially I used to number the pages once I finish them and stack it up next to
the cot which I was using as a writing pad. As the speed of translation
increased, to keep with the pace of writing I stopped numbering the sheets
thinking that I would do it later once I finished the translation. That was a
foolish decision. I never used to keep the translated pages back in the
cupboard. I wanted to keep all of them by my side just to feel the amount of
work that I had done so far. Seeing the growing number of sheets filled me with
a strange thrill and that high itself was enough for keeping the rhythm of
translation intact. One day, while writing, my infant son woke up and cried for
something. As I jumped up to attend him, accidently my elbow hit the stack of
papers and they flew down on the floor. I collected them frantically and
realized that the order of stacking them up was collapsed. It was extremely
difficult to bring the sheets in order and it took another two days to read
them page by page and see which page had the continuing part. But I learnt a
great lesson from this incident. From the next translation onward from A4 sheets
I switched to register note books which provided me with A4 size lined pages.
The accidental jumbling up the pages was thus solved forever. And it is
important say that my personal friendship with the local stationary shop person
became very thick over a period of time. Today, even if I go to buy some other
item, he first asks whether I need a register note book or not.

As I told you that in this chapter I would write about my
encounters with sex workers, I should desist from going at length about
the first book that I translated officially. But the second book was really
important because it was the one that provided me with a lot of insights about
the mental workings of a sex worker. The book that came for translation next
was Paulo Coelho’s ‘Eleven Minutes’. Eleven Minutes is the story of Maria, a
small town girl from Brazil. Maria belongs to a middle class god fearing
family. She dreams of a life beyond the confines of her little town. She is not
interested in studies. She wants to become big in her life. She falls in love
and experiences sex. But she does not like sex that much though she has
experienced throes of the physical passion in various ways. One way of
experiencing it is covering herself with a thick blanket on a hot summer
afternoon. One days she escapes to a bigger town, where she becomes a sex
worker in a bar. From there destiny takes her to Switzerland, where she becomes
a real professional. She encounters several special clients who give her
different kinds of experiences both sexual and spiritual. One special client
treats her like a slave and inflicts pain on her body which she slowly starts
enjoying. Another client, a painter does not want to have sex with her but
takes her to a river side and makes her walk on the sharp stones in ice cold
water without shoes. There she experiences the same deliverance as she used to
enjoy in slave sex. She imagines that she would collect enough money buy a farm
for herself and her parents. She reads books on agriculture in the local
library where the matron like librarian befriends her thinking that she is a
serious agriculture student. One day she reveals her identity to her. The
matron also opens up her mind.

Translating this book was a real experience for me. I had
encountered a few sex workers before that. I remember meeting a woman who
worked as a receptionist in a reputed firm but did sex work for extra income. I
also had seen a nurse who did it for extra money. One of them whom I
encountered next was a very young girl, hardly twenty years old but very bold
and did everything in a business-like manner. Another was just like any
other society type of woman but occasionally did sex work for making an
additional income. My encounters with all these women were more or less planned
by others. I do not know whether I really had physical contact with them or I was just talking to them to know more about them. Most of them were unwilling
to talk. Their idea was to finish the job and go home. I never felt anything
bad about them because they were doing a work. Each time I met them, I felt a
silent thrill growing inside me. But the moment I touched their bodies I found them
lifeless. They were just acting their role or doing a job. It could be washing
clothes, registering a call, mopping the floor, cleaning the backyard or
ironing clothes. There was no soul to connect with. Even if they had soul they
did not want it to connect with anyone else. However I tried to connect with
their inner core, they refused to let it go. It was so precious for them. And
the most interesting thing is that you don’t see them again, even if you want
to meet them. I had seen a couple of them again but they never showed any trace
of recognition. Out there they were different people.

While translating the story of Maria, I thought of all those
women. But Maria was special. She went to Switzerland to make money. She wanted
to provide a good life to her family. But each time she earned enough to fly
back to Brazil, something prevented her from doing so. A bit more, she thought.
She could earn a bit more, or experience something different. And she was
searching for something that she did not know at all. One of the clients showed
her how torture could be a way to soul deliverance. Another one taught her how
even a barefoot walk over pebbles could give her the same experience. She was
confused. She was experiencing her spiritual deliverance through different
processes. But she did not know which one was right for her. She intensely felt
that she could opt for the latter over the former. But when she experienced the
former, she thought the latter could wait. Finally she goes back, or so tells
the author. And she sets up her own farm, marries and lives a happy life,
leaving the memories of her sojourn as a sex worker in Switzerland behind. The
book was a best seller even in the translated version. It ran into ten editions
or more. Still it is in the best seller list in Kerala.

But what pains me and keeps me at the edge is the revelation
of the matron like librarian. She had once gone to a city for some work. She
was supposed to come back the same night. But she could not manage to catch
the last train. At the station a man befriends her and she ends up having sex
with him that night. She has never done that before. She would never do it again.
She is a staunch Christian and for her sexual deviance is a sin and crime. But
she has done it. She is not a sex worker. But she has done it. I was shivering
while I was translating that incident. And still that minor anecdote in the
novel pains me, perhaps for no reason, for a past that is beyond my control.

When someone decides to walk out of a marriage, especially
after spending twenty years with a partner and having two children from her,
people might wonder why this person is doing such a drastic thing. Most of the
people first think of the kids and say that at least for the sake of the
children the warring partners should compromise and stay together. Some people
would ask that if you want to have a free life why you decided to have kids at
all. Some would immediately judge one of the partners. Some would show some
curiosity and yet another lot would watch things silently. Some may celebrate
it and some others may feel pity for the separating partners and even some
others may feel a secret happiness. Generally people feel sad for a separating
couple. They would enquire whether there would be any possibility to keep them
together. Give it a try, give peace a chance, think about the kids, think about
the career and give space to each other, they would say. Perhaps, by this time
I have heard and gone through all these. Still I want to be separated from my
legally married wife and in the process from the children also. I have been
going through various literature, debates, articles and discussions regarding
marriage discords and often I wonder how we have put up with each other for the
last twenty years.

When people decide to separate, in the public imagination,
one of the partners becomes the villain in the plot and the other, the victim. Here
I do not know whether I am the villain or the victim as I am very much inside
the plot. At times, I think I am the victim of oppression. At times I feel that
I am the villain. Today, as most of the people would sympathize with a woman
who is going through marriage discords, there are more chances that people
consider me as the villain in this family drama. I do not want to dispute that
fact. I could be a villain, especially seen from the woman’s perspective. I am
the family breaker because I want to get out of this shit called marriage. I
believe, after these twenty years that there are different ways to lead a
fruitful life. Having children is not a sin. But living a life that one does
not want to lead for the sake of children is the worst sin possible. That is a
crime done by one against his/her self. Living under the same roof, fighting
for something that cannot be solved and still leading a life of togetherness
for the sake of children makes a wonderful farce than a meaningful life. Children
grow up seeing this constant bickering between parents and they get depressed.
People keep doing this thinking that they are sticking together even when they
are fighting like cats and dogs, only for the sake of kids. In fact they ruin
the kids in the process. Children could grow meaningfully under one parent
rather than under two warlords up in arms against each other day in day out.

I am selfish. The sole aim of my life is to read and write;
nothing more nothing less. Whatever happens in between is a by-product of my
passion for reading and writing. I came to Delhi with the dream of becoming a
writer. I could have taken up a ‘ten to five job’ anywhere when life was really
difficult. I fought the temptation to do that and remained a freelancer all
these years. In between I took up some jobs and left in no time. I learnt one
way to live the life of a writer without doing anything else; to be frugal in
life. I brought down the level of my desire for having a so-called good life. I
stopped socializing and dressing well. I work for money also because I have to
look after the children and give them a decent and dignified life. But I do not
use that money for the gratification of my personal desires. If at all I spend
money, I spend it on books, my personal telephone bill and a few other vices
like an occasional drink at home and cigarettes. I am in a process to cut them
down too. I do travel but whenever I travel the expenditures are taken care of
by others. I travel for others and I do not travel for pleasure. Though I
accompany my family on vacations, I personally feel that I do not need any
vacations out of work because when I read or write I feel I am on a perpetual
vacation.

Some people like my frugal living. Some people detest it. It
is not necessary that your partner also likes all what you do. It is not
necessary that your freedom is always entertained by your partner. Every day
and every moment you evolve but it is not necessary that your partner needs to
see you as an evolved or an evolving person. There are certain fixed ideas that
you cherish about your partner. He or she is like that or has to be like that.
But how can one fit into that idea. As a writer I go through long periods of
depression but you have to show a cheerful face when you are in a family
situation. Sometimes you do not make any money. But you have the hope of making
it at some point. But you need space and time to do things. You cannot be
completely hammered into certain boxes of ideal life. I am not an ideal man. I
am a man who has erred and is prone to err. Some people deeply love me and they
like to see me as what I am. I do not consider that our life partners are
supermarkets that everything could be obtained from there. At times life’s meaning
could be sought elsewhere also. Happiness could be found outside marriage.
Marriage or family is not a certificate for happiness. The root of my marital
discord lies in my apparent devotion to another woman. I am countered with the question:
If my partner was doing the same, would I have put up with it? My answer is, if
I have created such a situation that my partner has to look out for solace
elsewhere, then definitely I have to put up with it. If I have gone elsewhere
seeking solace or finding it, then one has to think what has gone wrong or
right.

You call it cheating on the partner. You call it breach of
trust. You call it crime. You call it moral corruption. You call it
irresponsibility. You call it extra marital affair. You call it illegal. You
call it hundred and one names. But I do not think that I could be accused of
any of these. I have found happiness in another person, which my partner has
failed to give me. But the issue is, in the public perception, the person who
finds happiness out of marriage is wrong. The person who suffers inside the
family is right. I am not judging either here. What I want to do is only this
much: I just want to live and live in freedom. I want to read and write. I want
to live a meaningful life and I do not think that meaningful life comes only
through family life and compromising with all what it demands. I know that I am
going to pay a heavy price for my decision. I know that I am going to be
rendered useless for some time. I know that even I may face social ostracism.
But I am not going to live a life that does not give me any dignity. I am
walking out to freedom. May be I am a weak person that’s why I have to find
freedom by walking out. But the stronger one remains for the children. Death is
better than a life lived in oppression and indignity.

Sunday, March 9, 2014

“What do you think about Aam Aadmi Party? Is it going to
make a big difference in the political scenario of Kerala?” I asked an
auto-rickshaw driver when I was travelling from Trivandrum city, the capital of
Kerala, to one of its suburbs. The man initially felt a bit hesitant to answer
my question and after looking at my face in the rear view mirror, perhaps
reassured by my unthreatening face, answered my question initially with a smile
and then with the following words: “People want some kind of change but the
problem with the AAP is that it does not have any organized leadership.
Generally we all believe in an able leadership. Those people who have come up
as leaders of the AAP here need to prove themselves first before they take on
the existing political system.” Kerala has very well organized auto-rickshaw
unions; of Congress, of CPM, of CPI and of the BJP. Auto-drivers show their
union affiliations in making subtle changes in their uniforms. All the
auto-drivers are supposed to wear Khaki shirt and Khaki pants. If they prefer
to wear dhoti/lungi, it could be white. Generally most of the auto-drivers who
believe in Congress politics opt for white dhoti and white shirt with an
unbuttoned khaki shirt worn over it. Those who belong to the left unions make
it curt by wearing a white dhoti and khaki shirt. The right wing union members
wear a saffron lungi and khaki shirt; they sport a saffron or sandal paste
Tilak (religious marker). The auto-drivers in this well organized sector are
generally educated, clean, non-abusive, politically aware and people friendly
in nature. There could be exceptions when some of them indulge in a bit of
moral policing but that is not yet a norm in Kerala. Some of the auto-drivers
take up charity work once in a while contributing to the general social health
of the state. Some of them ply their autos as part time ambulances and offer
free ferrying for women devotees of local temples for some organized festivals.
Social work undertaken by these auto-drivers is not clearly defined by their
religious or political affiliations. Hence one could see a Muslim auto driver
doing social work during a temple festival or a Congress or CPM union member offering
ambulance service or free ferrying of devotees for a Hindu festival. There are efforts
by religious and political groups to cash in on this charity by demarcating them
as sectarian acts but as a community of workers often auto drivers show the
tendencies of transcending the political and religious boundaries in order to
be ‘human beings’ who do a particular work or job with social responsibility
and dignity. If at all they are vertically as well as horizontally divided it
is in the area of their liking for certain film stars. They are not ‘fans’ in
the traditional meaning of the term but they prefer one actor/actress over the
other. The glossy pictures that decorate the interiors of these clean and well maintained
auto-rickshaws clearly say their ‘liking’ for certain actor/actress. Most of
the auto-rickshaws carry the names of local deities or they are named after
their own children, mostly of their girl children. No autos carry the pictures
of any political leader even if the owner/driver is a staunch follower of a
political party or a particular ideology. Had Aam Aadmi Party looked for
support base and propaganda base amongst the auto-drivers in Delhi, no
auto-driver in Kerala would flaunt AAP’s symbol, ‘broom’ on their
auto-rickshaws. The problem of AAP in Kerala starts there itself.

(Autorikshaws in Kerala)

I do not think that I need to furnish more details why I
have decided to start an article on the effect of AAP in Kerala with the
auto-rickshaw sector. My idea is to say that what AAP had targeted and still targeting
in North India, as political and social issues, do not seem to have any relevance
or reason to be addressed in the socio-political scenario of Kerala. Definitely
corruption in the system as a poll and political issue exist in Kerala too.
However, the complexion of this corruption is slightly different. When I
reached Kerala this time, for a university seminar, a few friends came to
receive me at the Kochi Airport. We were supposed to pick up a friend from a
nearby railway station who was coming from another city. We had half an hour in
our hands and one of the friends suggested that we could have a small peg of
brandy to start the evening. A friend who was driving the car dropped two of us
in front of a bar and went further to take a U-turn and to park the car elsewhere.
I asked my friend why he did so. He told me that Kerala Police was so strict
that they make everyone who drove undergo the ‘breathing test’. Rs.1000/- is
fine. Police do not accept any bribe. If found drunk, you are given a notice
and you are supposed to go to the special court to pay the money. Besides, the
police make you to sit through and watch a video regarding the ill effects of
drunken driving. Even if you have political connections or even connections
within the police, you are not let off. This clamping on drunken driving has
brought down accidents considerably but ironically the rate of alcohol
consumption has not come down in Kerala. On the contrary it increases
considerably per annum. People who want to drink, buy it from government run
beverages shops, go home and drink. Those who visit bars and other drinking
joints use public transport or autos to reach home. Those who take a chance and
escape the clutches of the police are considered to be the lucky ones. But in
Kerala one cannot be really lucky in this front.

(people queuing up before beverages shop in Kerala)

Auto-drivers and Policemen are union members and both of
them wear khaki uniform. What makes them distinct is that while the
auto-drivers could be divided along the religious and caste lines if need be,
police force cannot be under any religious or caste group in Kerala. Police force
is always an instrument of the state ministry and operates according to the
demands of the Home Ministry of the state. Unlike the police force in the North
Indian states, in Kerala, generally police force does not involve in extortionist
tactics. There used to be a time that Police brutality was rampant in Kerala.
But over a period of time Police force has become people friendly. However, it
takes out its brutal force when they act according to the wishes of the state
in order to curb mass protests against the state government or organized
movements of the people for their rights. But as the public is vigilant on
these matters police brutality on individuals has come down or almost nil
today. I saw a poster in my village which demanded a public apology from the
local station house officer who slapped a construction worker. A mere slapping
could evoke public outrage in Kerala, which is unthinkable in states like
Delhi, Haryana, Uttar Pradesh or Bihar. Most of the public servants ‘behave’
though their strength as members of certain unions gives them some kind of
insularity. But in most of the cases they provide service as per the wishes of
the people though it does not make Kerala, God’s own country as it is claimed.
Corruption is rampant though not so much in the national scale but public is so
alert that the corrupt cannot just get away with their acts. People so far have
been reacting to it by changing their rules religiously after every five years
and giving a chance for improvement in governance. What remain unfinished or
unsolved are a few public issues such as corruption in politics-religion nexus,
Dalit issues, large scale land reforms, environmental issues and third gender
issues.

(Kalabhavan Mani, an actor with Dalit background acting as a police officer fighting against system in one of the mainstream Malayalam Movies)

In the bar I found a couple of boys who worked as ‘waiters’
there. We ordered a few drinks and for them comprehending what we said seemed
to be difficult. One of the boys called another one and in somewhat accented
Malayalam he repeated the order that we placed. My friends informed me that
these boys were from Bangladesh or Orissa. There is a huge presence of people
from Bangladesh, Orissa, Bihar and even from Nepal. Most of the menial works
are done by these people. Some of the C-class theatres in Kerala show Oriya and
Bengali mainstream movies for their entertainment. This shows that in Kerala,
today, as far as an average educated Malayali is concerned, he is unwilling to
do ‘certain’ kinds of jobs. Within Kerala a new job giving community has come
up against the former job seeking communities. The new generation youngsters
either wait for a government job to happen to them, or relay on their family
fortunes, or migrate to Gulf countries or just spend their time idly. In short,
Kerala does not have any concrete demand for a social revolution because social
change is a constant part and parcel of this state. The mainstream movies
debate political corruption as well as systemic corruption as their staple
themes and suggest all the possible solutions for such issues. Unlike the
national mainstream movies, Muslim is not the ‘real other’ in these movies.
There are Dalit actors who act as police officers and ministers who work towards
a better future righting the wrongs either by persuasion or by force. There
could be several other detrimental ideological aspects to these movies, however
for the purpose of this article I would say that these films actually flag out
issues and constantly lampoon and ridicule even the living political personalities
in spoofed characters. Mimicry and comedy programs in television channels have
become strong social critiques in their own rights and these programs have now
spilled over even to religious festivals held right in the temple premises
where they discuss, debate and even suggest solutions through these comedy
programs. There is an overlapping of the secular over the religious, and the
aesthetical over the political. One has to accept the fact that these programs
function not only as a safety valve for the millions of people in Kerala but
also they help to form an opinion about politics and governance from within the
aesthetical.

(Oommen Chandy, Congress Leader and present Chief Minister of Kerala)

Kerala, in that sense poses an extremely strange problem to
the AAP. Let me recount a few examples. One of my family members is a very
strong left wing union activist. He tells me that the AAP does not have a real
program in Kerala even if there are very famous social activists and writers
have joined the force. I met an AAP activist in my village; in fact he came to
meet me when he came to know that my book on Arvind Kejriwal was recently
published. According to him, the membership drive has still not gathered
momentum mainly because most of the village people know each other and have
been devoted followers various political outfits for a long time, mostly
without too many complaints. One of my cousins, who works in a private firm and
comes from a traditional left background tells me that the AAP workers have
distributed pamphlets and membership forms in all the local shops but the
people are still not sure whether to ‘take a look’ at it or not. Though, the
AAP leadership in Kerala claims that there is a strong following for the party,
the general feel betrays such confidence. While returning to Delhi in a evening
flight that took off from Trivandrum and had a stop-over at Kochi I found the
chief minister of Kerala, Oommen Chandy at seat number 1A (window seat) and the
opposition leader and veteran left leader, V.S.Achuthanandan at seat number 1F
(window seat). As his age demands VS has two young assistants with him and they
sit a row behind him. The Chief Minister is left alone with a local edition of
Times of India. No fan following. No airs around. To complete a triangle, a
well known film start who often portrays police officers and politicians,
Sreeraman was sitting a row behind me. None disturbs none. None runs for
autographs. Kerala is different in many ways. AAP has to find a new way to
define itself in such a Kerala.

(V.S.Achuthanandan, fondly called as VS, CPM leader and opposition leader in Kerala)

Kerala’s political space is almost occupied by other political
parties and organizations. In a way, these parties are at logger heads on each
other on many issues. And when it comes to religious and caste voting patterns,
major parties go all out to appease religious equations. Where else in the
world you could see Mother Mary and Che Guvera in the same poster? Where else
in the world you could see a left party’s local youth wing endorsing a Church
festival? Kerala in that sense is radically different. I am not attempting to
say that Kerala is heaven. No, it has its own problems and so many issues are
still unaddressed as I mentioned elsewhere of which religion-politics nexus is
a major one. But AAP’s ideology, Swaraj is not going to work here. Nor does the
issue of corruption is going to work the way it has worked for Arvind Kejriwal
in Delhi or elsewhere. Then what exactly is the poll strategy of the AAP in
Kerala? Is it going to be reduced to the level of an exercise of knowing how
much vote could swing for or against the new party and thereby knowing whose
vote bank has been eroded in the process? In Trivandrum former IPS officer Ajit
Joy is the AAP candidate for the Lok Sabha election who would fight against the
sitting MP Shashi Tharoor and BJP’s veteran candidate and former central
minister, O.Rajagopal. Noted activist and writer Sarah Joseph will contest from
Thrissur. A few more names including that of the noted journalist Anita Pratap
are heard as AAP candidates. Going by the Delhi experience, one could see that
even the unknown names could bring forth a surprise. But Kerala is a different
society which refuses to be surprised. It believes in patterns and an informed
sort of political thinking, which believes in logic than surprises.

(Activist writer Sara Joseph)

If so what could be done? Many people that include noted
writers and even strong Marxian writers like B.Rajeevan have expressed that
there is a space for the AAP in Kerala. But the nature of that space is not yet
defined. Is it going to be corruption alone? If so it has been fought in
different ways in Kerala’s politics and people have come to a conclusion that
so long as the political parties deliver ‘goods’ corruption is okay. The
acceptance of the CPM’s transformation from a proletarian party into a
bourgeoisie party has been accepted by the people of Kerala in a strange way.
And more strangely they have embraced the critique of it from within the party
in form of V.S.Achuthanandan is also lauded and celebrated equally. Is AAP’s
agenda going to be land reforms? If so, it has been done and still movements
are on for the same in different places. In that sense, do these people need
AAP’s support for their struggles? Will they vote for AAP? Is AAP’s agenda going
to be Police reforms? If so what about the Police force that is more or less
prone to self criticism in Kerala? Is it going to be Public Distribution
System? If so most of the middle class still buys things from ration shops in
Kerala. I had a plateful of ration rice (sold for Rs.2/- per kilo) from a well
to do relative’s home and it tasted really good. However while reading the
history of Chengara Land Struggle I came to know that most of the landless Dalits
are given APL (Above Poverty Line) ration cards divesting them of the benefits
of the BPL (below poverty line) card holders. Is that going to be a poll plank
alone?

In Kerala, in my view, AAP's role is not of pragmatic
politics. It has to function as a supra structure for the AAP elsewhere and has
to produce recognizable benchmarks and dignified political and intellectual debates
for the party. Kerala model of development, which is absolutely different from
the mindless corporatization of Gujarat style development could be and should
be one way of giving a model of debate for the party. Even Arvind Kejriwal
himself has lauded the Kerala style of decentralization in his book Swaraj. If
so, can corruption alone be a poll issue for the AAP in Kerala? Now the AAP has
opposed the arrival of Sheila Dixit as the governor of Kerala. It sounds like a
very naive argument though there is some sense of indignation in bringing a
failed chief minister in Delhi as the governor of a comparative better state
like Kerala. The urgent need of AAP in Kerala should not be targeting the parliamentary
seats or even testing the mandate for the time being. It should further the
debate to a new dimension and think about things that would help the party to
evolve a better idea of governance and delivery of services. While I have not
lost faith in Arvind Kejriwal, I am supposed to be presented with more and more
persuasive arguments to believe in what the party is going to do in Kerala.
Kerala needs a change but obviously the AAP cannot take up the responsibility of
that change for it does not have the followers or agenda to take it up. But in
the meanwhile, it has got good will and intellectual back up here. Their job is
to provide an intellectual structure and ideology to the party if it need to
gain power or to prevent it from its possible degeneration, which still I think
is avoidable.

Saturday, March 1, 2014

I still remember my first attempts to translate from English
to Malayalam. It was sometime in 1986. I had a very old writing table with two
drawers. In a home where three people lived (my mother, elder sister and
myself) in close proximity there was nothing to hide from each other. My mother
knew that I wrote a lot that included love letters, love poems and stories
showing the physical and emotional angst of a young man. She was discrete in
acknowledging my writings. Whenever I showed her a poem that expressed more
universal ideas than the broken feelings of an immature heart, she recited them
in tune. Some of the poems she learnt by heart and recited aloud when she
worked in kitchen. I knew the subtexts of certain lines which my mother either
did not see or even after understanding it pretended that she did not. Those
lines, when I heard them sung by my mother embarrassed me. Yes, I was telling
you that there was nothing to hide between us. My sister did not take much
interest in my poems or literary pursuits but I think she has always admired me
silently. During my childhood, women generally hid two things; their
undergarments and their sanitary napkins. Public display of undergarments was
considered to be a taboo hence most of them, even the educated ones preferred to
dry their washed undergarments away from public notice. Men generally did not
have much to hide. Especially the men in Kerala actually did not hide anything
from anybody. Ironically, public display of undergarments was a thing of pride
for most of the men. Often they moved around in folded lungis and bare chests.

I have digressed enough. The drawers of my writing table
were always empty or it was a haven for discarded things. But the surface of
the table was always full, with books, notebooks, pens, periodicals and
newspapers. The presiding deity of the table was a blue table lamp. Even today
I do not know why people use table lamps especially when everyone knows that
using table lamps would cause damage to eyes. I think, table lamp is a
nostalgic import. It came from the old times when there was no electricity. Oil
lamps or lanterns were used by people who had something to do at night. Writing
table enveloped by darkness, and a person reading or writing something with his
face, chest and an opened book before him lit up by a lamp is a great picture
that emanates the idea of concentration, scholarship and a philosophic way of
life. When electricity came, lamps and lanterns were rendered useless. But the
nostalgic picture of a scholar sitting at a table at night, as if it were an
etching by Durer, prevailed all over the world. From the pre-electricity days
these oil lamps crossed over to the post-electricity life in the form of table
lamps. It exuded some kind of romanticism. But table lamps were a must for
those people who lived in small rooms where other people slept. Also bedside
lamps helped people to read books or letters or even write something without
disturbing others. These are called reading lamps. However, they lack the charm
of the good old table lamps. I had one and I loved it.

This blue lamp was the first witness of my attempts in
translation. When I read John Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath, which I had obtained
from the collection of my uncle, I felt too close to a character named ‘Rosashan’
who suckled a dying old man. In a poem I tried to translate that scene from the
novel. I was not translating the novel but I was translating that scene in a
poetic form. Translation, in a conventional sense is all about creating a work
of literature from one language to another without losing the verve and beauty
of the original. There are different ways of translating. Some of them are word
by word translations. Some are trans-creations, where without losing the
quality of the text you re-write in a different way. Whatever may be the style
and manner of translation, a translator cannot move far away from the original.
One has to stick to the original and one has to make certain explanations when
culturally alien concepts are translated into a different language. There was a
time when people used to think that they could even translate the names of
people and places in the original to a culturally familiar context. But that is
a wrong way. You cannot translate Bhibhooti Bhushan of Bengali into
Gopalakrishnan in Malayalam, though they sound similar. I was not too serious
about translating literature or articles when I was in my late teens though I
made such ambitious attempts once in a while. One of them was a poem by Lu
Zhun, a Chinese poet. Those were Haikus, a poem in three or four lines. I found
the form very interesting as I found its resonances in the small little
Malayalam poems called ‘Muktakangal’ (literally meaning ‘pearls’).

Later I found there is an aspect of translation in every
walk of life though we do not do it quite consciously. We call it influence and
either try to overlook it or become addicted to it. This translation is a way
of life. For example we a very interesting work of art. If it is seen by an
artist, he/she may tend to do something to that effect though in a different
form. It happens with movies, songs, fashion, gait, speech and even food
habits. There is constant translation and transcreation going on every time in
our lives. But translation of a literary piece is not autonomous. It does not
have an independent existence from its original even if the translator is an
equally gifted writer as the original writer. The autonomy of the original
cannot be claimed by the translation though most of the literature read all
over the world and are deemed to be great come to us through translations as
they are originally written in different languages. In a displaced sense we
attribute autonomy to translations but this autonomy is partial at times and
often illusionary. But in the case of other walks of life even if we translate
ideas and aspects we can claim a bit of autonomy to the translated expressions
as we could make them a part of our very being. While a translator cannot claim
the authorship of the original, a painter could claim the authorship of a copy
provided the original is not known to too many people. However, once found out,
it becomes a work of plagiarism and it falls from grace. Or rather such
plagiarism is known as copies. But parodying can be transcreations in the case
of a work of visual art while different translators of the same work of
literature could instil some sort of different energy to the translated work
while faithfully following the original still escape the possibility of being
parodies.

Many years later, as a way to escape from routine and as a
way to escape to freedom, I embarked myself to the journey of translating
literature even while writing my own original works. I was not a largely
published author then (even today I doubt whether I am a ‘published’ author as
I do not have a big publishing houses to back me up or give me handsome
commissioning amounts) and I was not even expecting that one day someone would
publish my writings or translations. But I deeply believed that I wanted to
translate and write at once. As I said in the first chapter of this series, it
was a way of confronting a crisis and finding a temporary solution till another
crisis is posed before me by external or internal contexts. The first book that
I took up for translating was ‘Oru Laingika Thozhilaaliyude Aatmakatha’
(Autobiography of a Sex Worker) by a former sex worker, Nalini Jameela, who is
now an established organizer of sex workers, social worker and author. Of all
literature before me why I chose to translate this book still remains a mystery
even to myself. When I read it I thought the voice of this woman was to be
heard by more people. Her story moved me completely. I had not been to a
brothel at that time. I never knew how a sex worker behaved though I have seen
stereotypical sex workers in streets. They were absolutely wretched people and
having physical relationship with them looked like a bleakest possibility.
Still people picked them up. I had never been to the places where organized sex
work took place. The scenes I had seen in the movies were inadequate to tell me
how those women lived, thought or felt. But Nalini Jameela’s story felt true
and I was in pain while reading it. I thought of translating it and I did
begin.

You may not believe that I finished translating that book in
less than two weeks. I sat in the morning and kept on translating the lines for
almost five hours a stretch. They were small sentences, as if they were an
intimate conversation. There were curious anecdotes, painful escapes, romantic
escapades, street fights, face to face with law enforces, exploitations,
threats, quarrels, haggling, compassion, kindness and love. Amongst these
layers I found how she slowly became empowered both in thoughts and deeds. How
she stood up to the society and spoke her mind. It was painful for her but she
did it. When I was in London, as a student I had seen a few videos of those
daring women who for the heck of it had sex with hundreds of men in one go. In
the world of porn industry, they became record holders and stars. But they too
were human beings. At some point they had to tell their intimate people that
they were sex workers and they had achieved such mad feats in their lives. One
of the documentaries followed the life of a South East Asian girl who had gone
to the US to become rich and became a sex worker instead. One day she decided
to go back to her country and tell her parents that she was working in the porn
industry. The documentary was heartbreaking for me. When I read Nalini Jameela
I felt the same pain. The translation was a sort of Catharsis for me.
Interestingly, J.Devika, a feminist scholar, activist and a friend of mine,
translated it much better and this book was brought out by Penguin in 2005.

Surprises were waiting for me in the same year. Translation
was not going to be just a medium of catharsis for me. It was going to be a
part of my discipline. I have never been given any awards for translating ten
internationally acclaimed literary works into Malayalam. But I think that I
have not even thought about eking out a living through translations.
Translating a piece of literature is a way of life for me; something keeps me
glued to my seat, clams me down and give a different sort of spiritual high. I
would like to talk more about my other translations. But before that in the
next chapter I feel that I need to shed light on certain dark areas of my life.
May be it can start with me as a person and my experiences with sex workers.